Lost Together
by Evil-Ekat
Summary: For one night, Stan finds himself burdened with an odd man claiming to be his brother's friend. Both remain oblivious to the obvious truth before them as they try to hide their intentions. (Cross-Posted on AO3. T for drinking and minor cursing.)


**This idea is slightly inspired by Futurama (Although, you can see the Futurama/ Simpson's influence on Gravity Falls to begin with...) after I stared to rewatch a few episodes. Bender's dialogue being pure gold made me think of characters it would fit with... Mainly Stan and Bill... And then I got to thinking, what if, like Bender, Bill's just hammered all the time, and the real problems begin when he's sober? By real problems, I mean the normal problems Bill causes are even worse when he's sober.**

 **... Of course, you couldn't outright state that in a kids show... But then I thought, how could I take a funny premise, and then add some SOUL-CRUSHING STAN TWIN ANGST PLUS BILL BEING A FORGETFUL DRUNK SO HE THINKS THAT HE STILL HAS TO PRETEND TO BE FRIENDS WITH FORD EXCEPT IT'S STAN BEING FORD AH HA HA- I uh, just read this thing. If you're intersted still after getting past this AN.**

 **If you squint you'll see a paring.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls.**

* * *

The blurry, coloured picture on the TV became staticy. Outside, the wind howled. Within moments, the image had recovered. Only now, it had transitioned into some older movie. It was still in black-and-white, and grainy when compared to what he had now. Stan could barely make out what was happening. Everything seemed like one hazy, grey blur before his eyes.

It was snowing outside. Stan still wasn't used to the alarming amount of snow that Gravity Falls got. But he had stocked up on as much food as he could afford, and had sealed all the cracks in the house with only the finest grade duct-tape. His newest employee, What'shisface, had been really helpful with that. Kid had truly taken the lesson about tape being the universal solution for everything to heart. Cute really.

Stan had driven the kid back to his house (Price of gas deducted from his pay of course.) Because the roads were bad. He could rest a little more easily, knowing that What'shisface wasn't lost and alone, slowly freezing to death. It was actually common in Gravity Falls. You lost your way, couldn't see or find anything. There was no choice but to keep walking until you either found somewhere safe, or froze to death.

There were avalanches in the mountains as well. People who were buried underneath the snow and slowly suffocated. Every spring, someone was found when things thawed. Sometimes it was an unlucky civilian, other times, it was a tourist that had pressed their luck. Just last year, it'd been a family of four who'd been trapped in their car. Frozen and dehydrated to death...

Shivering, the man wrapped his arms around himself. Heating the Shack cost way too much. And besides, that took forever to work. Stan wondered if it would just be easier to let his car idle for a bit, and sleep there. At least it would be warmer for the first part of the night. It would be much better than his current situation. But, the memory of the family that got trapped in their car returned. He didn't have a garage that he could put his car in. If it snowed heavily, he'd end up trapped, like the rest of them. Sure, he might have been able to dig his way out. When he was younger. But now, his hair was starting to turn grey. The cold made his joints ache. He was old.

Hopefully it wasn't too cold where Ford was...

It was probably just best for him to seal the parlour, light a fire in there. Sure he might end up burning down the Shack if he fell asleep, but at this point, it seemed like it was worth the risk. Wincing in pain, the man got up from his seat. He shuffled over to the TV and turned it off. Boy was he not crazy about this whole "getting old" thing. Why couldn't growing up be optional?

Stan started to walk towards his room, but something made him freeze. At first, it just sounded like the wind. It was constantly blowing, and after a while, he started to ignore it. But something had brought the sound back to his attention. It had changed in some way, that must have been the reason. It sounded almost like... Someone yelling? No, that wasn't right. No one would bother coming out here. He was just being paranoid was all. Old people got scared over nothing right?

"FORD! ST- _hic-_ I- KNOW YOU'RE HOME! I'M GONNA'... I'LL BREAK IN!"

There was someone knocking at the door. Stan grabbed a near-by baseball bat, and tucked it behind his back. Just in case it was someone who he didn't want to be tangling with. While the people of his past all had rather short life expectancies so to speak (It came with the morality rate of their... Jobs...) there were still people in Gravity Falls he wanted to avoid. Like those stupid tax collectors, always trying to nose around his business. Couldn't a guy just fake his death so he could pretend to be his twin brother while trying to fix a gateway that could bring him back at the same time?

"FORD!"

... Apparently not.

Stan swung open the door, the blizzard outside coming in with it. Snow scattered across the floor and stuck there. It wouldn't melt for a few weeks. In stumbled a dazed, half-dressed man. Stan groaned, and averted his eyes from the sight. There was a crazy, naked, weirdo in his house now. Great, just great. Not wanting to let more snow in, Stan tightened his grip on the baseball bat, and closed the door.

"- _hic-_ There you are Ford!"

The man tried to sling an arm around his neck. Stan shoved the creep away from him.

"Ha! Aha... You- you... Nerd..."

So, not only was there a pretty much naked weirdo in his house, he was also drunk. That certainly wssn't going to help anyone. Stan solved part of the problem by handing the man his blazer. It at least covered the guy better than his too-big, unbuttoned dress shirt had. The guy needed it anyways, after walking through the cold.

"Who're you?"

The man laughed at the question.

"Ford! It's me! _See?"_

He pointed to his eyes, which were the oddest shade of yellow Stan had ever seen. Was that even natural? Was he one of those people who wore contacts just so their eyes could look different? If this guy really was a friend of Ford, then where had he been for the last twenty years? The man seemed coherent enough to realize Stan was still confused.

"I jus' found this great place! Lotsa' bodies all laying there in this weird couple's house! So I snatched one! C'ourse, the preservatives are- _hic-_ A little weird, and this meat sack is starting to decompose. But..."

"Look buddy, what do you want?"

"I- _hic-_ Know you were mad that I kinda', you know... The thing... And then I saw these _giant_ rabbits handing out chocolate..." The man stretched out his arms, feebly trying to narrate his story. "- and I though- _hic-_ Ford _loooves_ that kinda' stuff! So I went ta' steal some... But apparently I wasn't _sober_ enough to make a purchase! So I sobered up long enough to getcha' this!"

Stan didn't know how it was possible, but the man pulled a box of chocolates out of his dress shirt. He handed them over to Stan, who carefully took them. They were the raspberry-filled kind. Stan inwardly scoffed in disgust. Raspberry filling was the worst. In Stanley's opinion at least. Ford however, was willing to spend his allowance from time to time on the cheaper, penny candy kind.

"Thanks... Pal."

"No problem-o friend-o!" He said, trying to hug Stan again. "Ha! That rhymes!"

"No it doesn't." Stan huffed, pushing the weirdo back. "Now get out."

"But I'm stiiilll _sooobeeer!"_

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're the one with the booze!"

Ford didn't drink. At least as far as Stan knew. While _he_ happened to drink, Ford's friend wouldn't know that. How could he be certain that there was anything here for him? This was just like the time Ford's other drunk friend and his nephew had showed up. Who was he again? Nick, Mick... Mick and Marty maybe? Didn't really matter anyways.

Just as Stan turned to tell Ford's friend to beat it, the metallic glint of something caught his eyes. Stan saw the axe too late, and couldn't react. The first thought that came to mind was how Ford's friend had pulled an axe out of nowhere. He'd defied physics for a second time! Next, Stan realized that the man was about to put a brand-new hole in his floor.

"No! What are you doing?!"

 **Crack!**

Stan had to look away as chips of splintery wood were sprayed everywhere. The elderly man groaned, wondering why things like this has to happen to him. When he dared to look again, Stan saw the other man was now in the hole. He had bent over, clearly reaching for something. Stan stepped closer, and peered inside the hole.

"Sweet Moses! When did those get there?!"

"I uh- _hic-_ Mighta' hid them a while back... Jus' in case you ever decided you wanted ta'... Want some... Booze..."

He chewed the cap off one of the many various bottles, took a sip. Stan took it away from him before they guy could get any more drunk. Rubbing off the dust on the label, Stan tried to read the faded words. But it was written in some strange language that he couldn't recognize. All he could read was the expiration date. Which just so happened to be twenty years ago.

"Hey, buddy, this stuff has all gone bad."

"Alckol doshnt go bad." He gurgled.

Stan rolled his eyes, and took another bottle away from the man.

"Stop drinking this stuff. It's bad for you."

The man tried to hug him for what felt like the hundredth time within the past five minutes. And again, Stan pushed him away.

"Aw, c'mon Ford! It's cold outside! Just let me have a little more!"

"No. You're completely hammered."

"How do you expect me to- _hic-_ work on the gateway if I'm sober?"

Stan's heart nearly froze. Or maybe he was having a heart attack. Old people had those right? And he was starting to get pretty old. So he could be having a heart attack... But less importantly, how did this guy know about the basement underneath the Shack? It'd been twenty years now. Surely he wasn't that fact wasn't lost in the world of alcohol.

"Well you sure can't work on it drunk."

The man seemed to straighten a little in his spot. Instead of trying to hug him again (Thank God for that.) his strange, yellow eyes narrowed. He stuck a finger into Stan's chest.

"S'matter with you Ford? Memory loss or somethin'? I'm never sober. It's always been the other way around with me."

Stan quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Oh uh, right. I forgot."

The man was still staring at him though. Stan had to stop himself from breaking the guy's arm when he started to feel his face, and curiously poked at his glasses. The guy took off his hat, and seemed to be inspecting his hair. This was the point where Stan drew the line, and he stepped back from him.

"Why are you so... Old?"

Crazy. There was a crazy, half-dressed, half-drunk friend of Ford's in the Mystery Shack. That could now be added on to the list of things this weirdo was. Clearly the guy wasn't just drunk, he was completely delusional. Thinking he was Ford was all part of the plan. But thinking that he was Ford from twenty years ago was not.

A part of Stan felt bad for the guy. His life was probably just as bad as his had once been. One of his closest friends had been missing for the past two decades, and he'd never even realized. He'd been too lost in... Whatever was going on in that head of his. The rest of Stan was starting to panic, as the man asked more and more questions. He seemed to be realizing that something wasn't right with "Ford."

"Ha! Oh you!" Stan waved off. "You're just seeing things!"

The man rubbed his back, and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I guess so."

He didn't sound convinced on the matter. Stan started to concoct a plan. This would work short-term only of course. He'd get the guy to drink a little more so he'd stop questioning things, and then send him off in the morning, once all the snow had stopped. Hopefully it would be another twenty years before the guy decided to show up on his doorstep again.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"What? Of course not!" Stan waved off. "Why would I be?"

"Well I did make Fiddlesticks loose his voice for a week."

Fiddlesticks? Like... Fiddleford McGucket? The crazy town kook? Boy did Ford have terrible choice in friends. Even befriending himself ended horribly. Although, it might not have to. Maybe there was another way to change things. It would just take a little more time. Just a few more years of rebuilding...

"I'm not mad about that!" Stan said. "He talked too much anyways!"

"The last time I stole something, you told me to put it back."

"Food is different." Stan quickly lied.

"Ford... Show me your hands."

Stan shoved his hands even farther into his pockets.

"I just remembered something!" Stan yelled. "I bet some of the alcohol is probably still good so you should go back to drinking!"

"'S what I've been trying to say the whole time Sixer."

He leaned over to reach for a new bottle, but seemed to freeze up for a moment. The man curiously felt his back, and then winced slightly. Then, he grabbed a new, unmarked bottle of something. He bit off the lid and spat it out. Stan had to look away as he chugged the bottle in one go. That seriously wasn't good for a guy's health. Even if it did seem to get rid of his hiccoughs.

"Easy there buddy." Stan warned, pushing the bottle away from him.

The man snorted, and was about to take another sip, when he suddenly went cross-eyed. He was staring at the hand Stan had used to grab the bottle. Counting. He was starting to realize that Stan was not what he seemed. That there was something not quite so right with his friend. He grabbed Stan by the wrist, staring fixedly at his fingers.

"You're not... You..."

"You're just seeing double pal." Stan reassured.

"But..."

Suddenly, the man's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he collapsed. But he hadn't fainted, like Stan originally thought. He was sleeping! The guy was snoring and everything! Stan tried nudging the guy awake with his foot. But it didn't do anything to help. The man was dead asleep, and didn't seem like he felt like moving.

Stan groaned. Why was this kind of stuff always happening to him?

* * *

 _What was going on, and why was it happening to him?_

 _As why did his head hurt?_

 _Why did he have a head to hurt?_

Waking up was Bill's first hint that something wasn't right. He didn't have a body to be waking up in. When he tried to get up, the demon realized that his face was stuck to the floor. Frozen. Aparently, he'd been drooling when he slept. Gross. But not as gross as that smell was. Blood wasn't so bad, but this was way too strong! It was like rotting flesh.

Once he defrosted a little, the demon sat up. He rubbed his temples, trying to think, trying to figure out why things weren't what they should be. This looked like Ford's house, but there was something wrong about the place. What was going on? Why was he having trouble thinking?

Bill realized that there was a gaping hole in his back. It was the kind of injury that most human beings didn't survive. So, he'd tried entering a dead body to see what would happen? That seemed like something he would do. It'd also explain the pain he was in. Severed spinal cord would make anyone have trouble thinking.

So he and Ford had tried getting him a body? Was that one of their studies? It seemed like something he would humour Ford on, just to see what would happen. But... Ford was... Ford was asleep right next to him. Ford's arm was resting around his neck, and they were both tucked underneath a blanket.

The room was still freezing cold though. He could see his breath forming little clouds in front of him. Ford still felt rather warm though. Actually, He looked a little oddly dressed though. A dress shirt and tie? What had they gone out for the night or something? How'd that happen? Ford was an anti-social, multi-purpose, first-class nerd. He'd never agree to doing anything even remotely fun!

The hand resting on his chest was heavy. Not normally one for subtitles, he shoved Ford away from him. Affectionate weirdo. Ford stirred a little bit, his fingers curling. He debated whether or not to scare him awake. That might bring up questions though. It was hard to act like a giant nerd around him some of the time. But it was all a part of the plan. He amused himself by counting things instead.

 _"This little piggy went to the black market..."_

 _One._

 _"That little piggy stayed home..."_

 _Two._

 _"This little piggy was a sadistic murderer and ate it's neighbour in roast beef form..."_

 _Three._

 _"That little piggy had an alibi that was completely air-tight and was acquitted of assisting the culprit..."_

 _Four._

 _"This little piggy cried: I can't find my way home! And then succumbed to the cruelties of Mother Nature."_

 _Five..._

 _"And the sixth one..."_

There was no sixth one. Ford had five fingers! What was going on with that? Was this one of those reality TV shows where someone got Kerpranked?! He hated that show! The surprises weren't even that funny! Bill remembered that he had been banned from most TV shows after he'd beaten the system on one of those game shows. Apparently it was "cheating" and "took the fun out of the luck part of the game" because he knew what would happen.

Where was Ford?!

The realization finally reached his head: He went sober for some reason or the other.

Of course! He always forgot things whenever he did! Ford was still doing whatever, while his brother was rebuilding the gateway. Ford was gone. They weren't friends anymore. Not that he had liked being friends with him in the first place. What kind of a sap would he be if that ever happened? No one'd ever take him seriously if he got carried away with the friendship thing. He... Didn't... Miss... Anything...

Now he'd just leave quietly and discreetly to avoid any potential embarrassing things that could happen if Stan woke up. There'd be a lot of questions and awkward actions otherwise. He was starting to feel a little like he was sobering up again as well. He'd better get out of this place and this body right away.

"Mister Pines?"

Bill turned around to face the source of the voice. Some tubby little beaver-puppy thing was standing in the threshold. What were those called again? Humans had lots of them, they were especially fun to scare... Children! Did... Ford have a children- kid, child? No, Stanley. The brother. Did he have a kid?

The... Child's eyes seemed to grow especially wide once he stood up. Bill remembered that his back was covered in frozen blood and his vessel was starting to decompose. Also, he didn't have pants. He should probably find some of those. People seemed to ask a lot of questions when you didn't wear anything.

"I uh, should I leave?" The kid asked. "I mean, I know Mister Pines said this was a business day even if there was twelve feet of snow because we could sell over-priced hot chocolate to the customers when really it's just warm milk with tree bark in it. Because, the tree bark makes it brown and people can't tell the difference and then we'd be able to get-"

Stan was awoken by the sound of his employee's rambling. Grumbling to himself, the man glared at Soos.

"Soos, what did I tell you about talking to me in the morning?"

"You said not to Mister Pines. But because your friend was here I thought I could talk to him since you were still-"

Friend? Stan remembered that Ford's psychotic friend had showed up on his doorstep last night. He was standing off to the side, and... Christ! Where the hell were his pants?! Why had he walked through a blizzard in nothing but a dress shirt?! And why was there blood dripping on the floor?

"We're not friends." Stan informed him.

Soos' eyes seemed to grow even larger. Stan wasn't sure how it was possible, but he managed to do it.

"Oooh! You mean you're _special_ friends!"

"What?! No!"

"It's ok Mister Pines." Soos reassured. "My pastor says that guys who have special friends will go to a bad place, but you told me that you're already there, so it doesn't really matter!"

When had Soos learned stuff like that? Come to think of it, when had he told Soos anything about his many crime schemes? Stan realized that the box of raspberry-filled chocolates (Now those were another level of evil all on their own!), bottles of various alcoholic beverages, lack of pants, messy hair, and half-borrowed clothes all made this look highly suspect. But it wasn't what it looked like... Probably...

Did he have anything to drink last night?

He couldn't remember.

Fuck.

"Soos, there's no easy way for me to explain this to you. But-"

"Oh, I understand Mister Pines! Sometimes when two guys like each other very much-"

 _Slam!_

The front door was opened and closed in record speed as Ford's friend limped out of the Mystery Shack. Stan and Soos stepped outside, to see the man floundering around in the snow as he desperately tried to escape the Mystery Shack. He threw off Stan's blazer, revealing the longish dress shirt he wore underneath. There was a large, gaping wound in his back. One that no person should have been able to live with.

"Gee, I'm sorry for scaring away your friend Mister Pines."

Stan was too freaked out to correct the kid.

"It's fine kiddo'. He wasn't that good of a friend anyways."

"Is that why you hit him with the axe?"

"Axe? What axe?"

"The one by the door!" Soos said. "There's a hole next to it, and there's still some blood on it."

Stan wondered if it was possible to have three heart attacks within twenty-four hours. He slowly shuffled around, letting Soos point to the weapon. Then, he saw that the tip of it was covered in something red. It had frozen into jagged little crystals, that broke off when he touched them. Stan remembered how the man had pulled the axe of of his shirt. From out of his own back...

Why couldn't Ford just make friends with a sane human being?

 **Fin**


End file.
